


Lean On

by drugdog



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drugdog/pseuds/drugdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nix wants Dick and Dick wants... well. It's a type of symbiosis Nix can't name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean On

**Author's Note:**

> ace!dick is life but so is angst

Dick takes the job at Nix's father's company, the one that was half a joke when neither was sure if they'd wake up the next day, or if they'd wake up laying next to a corpse. He takes the bedroom that was supposed to be for guests.

Nix'd say Dick takes his heart, too, but that happened a long while ago, in Toccoa, when the burning sun on Currahee lit his red hair like hellfire and Nix was begging to be burned.

He can say Dick takes the space in his bed.

Dick could take everything, could take his life, and Nix would thank him until he tasted blood in his raw mouth.

Nix's fingers are unsteady where they curl around Dick's hips, and he digs his nails in to make up for it. His thumbs press on sharp bone.

Detached, he thinks for the thousandth time that he'll wake up the next morning and see blue crescents standing out stark on Dick's skin. If Dick would ever sleep with him in both senses of the words.

He wants him to, but it could just be from looking at him, heavy in his lap, all hellfire hair and a mouth just as red from kisses that are more teeth than lips.

Red and blue. Stark in contrast, but so beautiful, so beautiful when it comes to Dick. He can't get that word out of his mouth.

"Nix," Dick says. His ribs shake when he breathes, Nix feels it, he feels the slow rolls of his hips. He slides his hands down to Dick's thighs, thumbs pressing closer and closer in the space between. Blue light blends with white, drifting through the blinds. It hits Dick's skin in stripes, showing freckles and angles and Nix's hands on him.

Heat curls in his stomach, close to molten lava, to melted gold. He wants to roll Dick under him, box him in with his bones and skin and get him to understand. But Dick's higher in rank than him for a reason. He's always loved control.

He's never loved him. Not in the way Nix loves him.

Nix thinks of Romeo and Juliet and their kiss on the dance floor, how Romeo thought his hands were sin, how Romeo thought himself unholy until he kissed Juliet. How they fell hard and fast for each other at first sight.

He can't touch Dick like the light does, and he can't be pure. They're more than teenage mood swings, he hopes, but it holds true and Nix aches. He's always been ready to die for him. He wishes Dick would do the same.

"You're good, you're fine," and Nix doesn't know why he says it.

If he calls Dick the opposite, he might realize what he's doing and leave, because he deserves better things. Nix knows when he doesn't want to. He always has.

Dick's nails scratch the back of his neck and Nix remembers himself. He rocks up into him, resting his head on Dick's shoulder, and breathes his swears and promises into pale skin.

"Nix," Dick says again. He tries to burn it into his memory like it's one of Dick's favorite records. Even though the war is over, even though they're safe, he doesn't know how much more time he has.

Without death hanging over his head, he's even more uncertain. It scares him.

"I've got you."

Sharp, he inhales, and the air is fuckigg and night and haze. It's intoxicating. It's what keeps him away from the VAT 69 in his bottom drawer. Dick arches his back and Nix arches with him. He makes a sound so lewd, fisting a hand in Nix's dark hair, that Nix loses his rhythm with a stutter of his hips.

It's different when he catches up again. It's Dick's perception of him, he thinks: slow, heavy, rough. A weight dragging him down like they're jumping all over again into battle.

Nix bucks up and Dick's lashes meet his cheeks. His teeth show, glistening in the dark, some sort of grimace. "Christ, Nix, do that again." His voice cracks between his words and turns it to something low and desperate and just what Nix wants, what he needs, if he can't have all of Dick. "Please."

It's the please that gets him.

He listens for once and comes with Dick, pressing his thumbs up, on bone again, hard enough to get the blue bruises he wants so bad. Dick pulls at his hair and jerks his hips, making sounds like he can't get enough oxygen in his lungs.

"Fuck," Nix says, drawing it out. He slides out from under Dick and lays back on his bed.

"Thanks," Dick says, and Nix wants to sleep until there's nothing left in the world around them.

He wants to pull Dick down beside him and sleep with him, with his soft head under his hand and his warm breath on his collarbone.

He doesn't want Dick to get out of bed and reach for his boxers, but he does, and Nix doesn't ask him to stay. In a life where he's gotten everything he's asked for, he supposes it's fair that he doesn't get Dick. He supposes it's fair that Dick hasn't left yet.

Dick leans down and kisses him, too soft for what they've just done. Nix's hand cradles the back of his head. It's over too fast. He can't cure the ache he feels, not then, not when Dick leaves the room.

Dick's footsteps stop in the supposed-to-be guest bedroom. Nix pulls his blankets up to his chest. He's near, but not near enough. He'd die to run his fingers through that hellfire hair at morning's first blue light, but when he thinks about it, he's dead because of Dick already.


End file.
